


Beautiful and Delicious

by tiedyeflag



Series: Underfell Grillby x Reader [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Body Image, Chubby Reader, F/M, Oblivious Reader, Tasty Food, Underfell Grillby (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), female reader but can be otherwise, underswap Grillby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 12:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedyeflag/pseuds/tiedyeflag
Summary: Someone calls you a 'potato', hurting your feelings. Grillby seeks to amend that with his cooking.





	Beautiful and Delicious

You sit at the bar, flipping through your phone while munching on a bowl of pretzels. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Grillby mix drinks. Despite being made up entirely of violet, violent flames, you had never witnessed him igniting his alcoholic beverages. Just as he finished pouring out a lime green mixture into a cocktail glass, he glanced over. You grin and raise your fingers in a tiny wave of acknowledgment. He smirks back, a jagged mouth somehow peeking through the indigo flames. It had taken you weeks to realize he even had a mouth, or even eyes, thanks to his dark shades. 

When you had first met him, as the first human to willingly enter his classy bar, he was quiet, save for the crackling of his flames. You came out of pure curiosity, then out of love for the food, and you somehow carved friendships with these monsters. One of those was with Grillby, the owner of the very place. He always wore lavish clothes of fur and leather and on the off chance he smiled, it was a smug one. Despite his vanity, you found him to be good company, and by a streak of luck, he tolerated your presence.

“Look who decided to come back,” Grillby says as he approaches you. He leans over the counter on his elbows, and you had the impression he crossed his legs behind the counter.

“Is that a problem?” You tilt your head, sipping at your water.

He chuckles, a crackle of fire and mirth. “With your record of always paying your tab, I have no complaints.” Running a hand through the flames atop his head, like hair, he asks, “What’s so interesting on your phone that you can’t pay attention to me?”

You held your phone up to him. He lowers his shades to stare at it, then he exhales through his nose. “Really?”

“What? It’s not a crime to look up cat vines after a bad day!”

His expression went from bored to...concern? “Bad day?”

You quickly shove your phone into your purse. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing some good food won’t help.” Now you leaned on your arms, mirroring his posture. “Speaking of which, where’s my root beer float?”

Grillby’s lips pressed together. For a few seconds too long, he didn’t move. Then he strokes the white fur lining the collar of his jacket. “Tell me what’s on your mind, then root beer.”

“Huh?” You lean back, bewildered. “Since when do you prompt your customers to lay out all their troubles? I thought you hate that.”

“I do. Especially from Sans,” He threw a hard glare at where Sans usually sat, guzzling down bottles worth of mustard. His shoulders relax, and he reaches for his glasses. Pulling them off, he pierces his gaze at you. “But I’m curious, so I’ll make an exception.”

You open your mouth to protest, but not a word passed your lips. You froze for a moment, not noticing Grillby tracing your lips with his eyes. Then shame flickers in your eyes, and your shoulders slump as you sigh.

“This new guy at work walked up to me and...asked me out. Out of the blue.”

Grillby’s flames went a touch darker, his frown deepening. You failed to notice and continued, “I said no, and then he called me…” You bit your thumbnail.

“...Unsavory names?” he growled.

“Yeah.” You huff, “I mean, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. And he’s technically not wrong.”

“I beg your pardon?” Grillby grips the table as if in disbelief. At your surprise, he grabs a glass and began cleaning it.

“Well, he called me a potato, among other things.” You shrug. “Can’t argue with that one. I mean, look at me.” You pinch your soft stomach, heaving it and letting it fall down. It’s as proportionally large and soft as the rest of you. “I’ve already made peace that no one wants potatoes, but…” Your eyes grow glassy. “I don’t have to be reminded.”

When you blink away the tears on verge of falling, you see Grillby still cleaning the glass, rubbing rhythmically against the smooth surface. His glasses were back on his face, shielding his gaze. You could have sworn you saw him scowling, but...no, the flames were playing tricks on you. To lighten the mood, you ask, “So...about my root beer float?”

He put the glass and the towel down. “Of course,” He says quietly before marching to the kitchen. A few wisps of smoke trail behind him. You knew from experience he only ‘smoked’ when he was upset. The first--and last--time you saw him smoking, he was on the verge of burning down the entire bar while trying to break up a couple of drunken men in the middle of a fist fight. Part of his vest burned to ash, and he made them pay for it. 

Though honestly, you were more interested in the fact he appeared to have  _ muscle _ under there. Or at least a good pair of pecs. Every now and then you wonder other things about his anatomy; could he change his physical appearance by will? Did he have organs? Did he pee lava? Heaven forbid you to ask him any of these questions, but the thoughts do make you chuckle on occasion. Now, however, you wondered if you had upset him. Why? And how? Should you apologize for simply answering his question?

You felt a cool tap on your shoulder. Startled from your thoughts, you look over to make eye contact with a stocky skeleton with a grumpy appearance.

“Hey, Sans.”

“Pass the mustard,” He growls as he got in the seat next to you. Reaching to the other side, you grab a bottle of mustard and hand it to him. His bony fingers snatch it, pop open the cap, before he shot it down his throat.

“Bad day?”

Sans swallows, licking his sharp teeth, staining them bright yellow. “Just long.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I…” You fiddle with your earring. “I think I made Grillby grumpy.”

Sans guffaws. “Relax, kid. That’s just his default setting. He can find anything to  _ dampen his flames.” _

You had to snort at that. Despite Sans’s appearance, he too made good company. 

“Speaking of which, where is he? I need more mustard than this,” He shakes the bottle.

Speak of the devil, Grillby marches out of the kitchen carrying a large, silver platter. He strode right up to your seat and put down a tall root beer float in front of you. 

Your eyes light up at your favorite beverage, but before you could pull it towards you and slurp it up, Grillby put the silver platter right between you and your drink. 

You gasp.

Sitting before you are three rolls of tornado potatoes on sticks, bathed in butter, garlic, and spices. Steam wafts from the golden brown coils, filling your nose with deliciousness. You close your mouth before a drop of drool nearly escaped. 

Sans’s hand creep towards a stick, but Grillby swats it away. After giving the skeleton an icy glare, he turns towards you. “For you. On the house.”

“W--What? Me?” You jab your finger to your chest, incredulous. 

“They’re like you.” He pauses. “Beautiful.”

Eyes widening, your cheeks grow hot enough to rival Grillby’s flames, maybe even in hue, too. You cover your cheeks as you whisper incoherently.

“Sooo…” growls Sans. “Can I get some with mustard, or what?”

“3000 G.,” says Grillby flatly, not batting an eye.

“Are you serious?!”

Grillby’s flames flare higher. Before any punches were thrown, you finally say, “Thank you, Grillby.”

His flames die to low indigo in the blink of an eye. Then, in an instant, burn a bright, bright violet, and his cheeks burned white. Without looking away from you, he paws for a glass and a towel and cleaned it. His flames return to normal and he replies, “My pleasure.”

You pick up a stick and raise it to your mouth. Teeth crush through with a satisfying crunch and your tongue is met with flakes of flavor. A hum of delight vibrates from your throat as you chew, and swallow. “This is great, Grillby!”

He smirks. “Was there any doubt it would be otherwise?”

Instead of answering, you take another bite, still moaning from the sheer scrumptiousness. You’re so engrossed you almost miss his next words.

“You know, potatoes are also quite delicious. I wonder if the same could be said for you?”

You shrug. “I doubt humans are very tasty.” 

Grillby swallows the lump in his throat. Biting his lip, he slinks back to the kitchen. He simply leans against the wall to catch you moaning at his food just one more time before he makes himself push away. The sound was almost orgasmic, and the glow on your face looked heavenly to him. What he’d give to cook your meals every day, or to caress your unbelievably soft curves, or to devour you in the most intimate places--

He shakes his head. He can try again later. Right now, he has orders to take.


End file.
